But as is so often the case with Torah, the rabbis unpack layers upon layers of meaning. What did it really mean when it says "he saw that there was no man"?

The ancient rabbis of Shemot Rabbah, a classic collection of Midrash, grapple with this very question. It wasn't just about the absence of another human being. It was about something far deeper.

Rabbi Yehuda suggests that Moses saw “there was no man who would be zealous on behalf of the Holy One blessed be He, and kill him.” No one willing to stand up for justice, to act as God's agent in the world. A chilling thought, isn't it?

Rabbi Nechemya offers a slightly different take: there was no one who would invoke the name of God and then kill him. Perhaps the Egyptian’s actions were so egregious that they warranted a divine judgment, but no one present was righteous enough to carry it out with the proper intention.

And then there's the most unsettling interpretation of all, voiced by "the Rabbis" in the text: Moses foresaw that no righteous people would emerge from this Egyptian’s lineage, not even until the end of time. A stark, almost deterministic view of fate.

But how could Moses be sure? According to the text, Moses consulted with the angels! He asked them, "Is this one liable for execution?" And they confirmed it. So, "He saw that there was no man" – no one to speak in the Egyptian's favor.

Okay, so Moses struck down the Egyptian. But how? Here, the text offers a few possibilities. Rabbi Evyatar suggests a simple punch – a powerful one, no doubt. Another opinion claims he used a mortar rake to remove his brain! Yikes. But the Rabbis offer a more mystical explanation: Moses invoked the name of God, using its power to bring about the Egyptian's demise. This idea draws on the later accusation leveled against Moses, “Do you propose [omer] to kill me [as you killed the Egyptian?]” (Exodus 2:14), implying a power beyond mere physical strength.

And then Moses "concealed him in the sand.” Why sand? Because, the text explains, there was no one there except Israelites, who are likened to sand. Moses essentially tells them, "Just as sand makes no sound when moved, this matter should remain concealed among you.”

Of course, secrets rarely stay buried. The story continues that the matter was only heard by means of the Hebrews, as it is stated: “He went out on the second day and behold, two Hebrew men were fighting [nitzim]; [he said to the wicked one: why do you strike your counterpart?]” (Exodus 2:13).

These brawling Hebrews are identified as Datan and Aviram, notorious figures in the Israelite saga. The text cleverly connects them to other acts of rebellion, from hoarding manna to suggesting a return to Egypt. These two, it seems, were always troublemakers. The text even suggests that nitzim—the word for "fighting"—hints at their ultimate end, linking their present quarrel to their future downfall.

Or, the text offers another explanation, nitzim hints at their intent to kill one another, citing Deuteronomy 25:11, which Rabbi Elazar interprets as referring to a fight to the death.

And Moses' question, "Why do you strike your counterpart?" is revealing. The text points out that it doesn't say, "Why did you strike?" but "Why do you strike?" Implying that merely raising a hand in anger is enough to be considered wicked. And calling them "counterparts" suggests that both were equally wicked.

So, what are we left with? A single verse, packed with interpretations. It's a story about justice, about leadership, about the burden of power. It’s about the fine line between righteous action and potential corruption. And perhaps most importantly, it's a reminder that even our greatest heroes are complex figures, wrestling with difficult choices in a world that rarely offers easy answers.